A Son Becomes the Father
by JeanBoulet
Summary: It has been fifteen years since Superman returned. Ten years after his mother had passed. Jason Lane has gone to work for the very newspaper that his mother worked for, determined not to end up like his father. But can he really run from fate? CH. 4 UP!
1. Chapter 1

A Son Becomes the Father

by: Shadeslayer390

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything in this story except for the idea and only a few characters scattered throughout the story. Everything else belongs to DC Comics.

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_You will be different. Sometimes you will feel like an outcast, but you will never be alone. You will make my strength your own. You will see my life through your eyes as your life will be seen through mine. A son becomes the father, and father becomes the son._

I remember those words being whispered in my ear as I slept. I remember the speaker's voice being soft, yet powerful. I remember the touch of soft skin across my cheek and I remember the rush of wind from my window as _he_ flew off. Years later, I would learn that the man who spoke to me in my room was my father.

Lois Lane was my mother. She was the lead reporter for the _Daily Planet_ newspaper in Metropolis, and the strongest person I have ever known in my entire life. Which, for me, is saying a lot. So when she died when I was eleven, my whole world came crashing down around me. Richard White, whom everyone, including my mother for a time, believed was my father, came back to Metropolis from his work in London for the funeral. But it wasn't Richard who took me to the funeral.

It was Clark Kent, long-time family friend and my mother's partner for the _Planet_. Richard had left for London when I was nine, and ever since, it was Clark who had been a father-figure to me. When Mom died, Clark took me over to his small apartment and offered me a place to stay until Richard could catch a flight back to Metropolis.

I don't remember much of the funeral. One thing I do remember is thinking that I had ever seen Clark cry until we went to the funeral. I wasn't old enough to understand the concept of death fully, so I didn't get why all of these grown ups all around me where crying. When Clark took me up to see my mother's casket, I asked him why they were going to bury my mother. He looked down at me with his blue, blue eyes and tried so very hard to smile.

"Mommy's dead, Jason," He told me with tears in his eyes. "You're not going to see her for a very long time, so you should say goodbye, okay?" His voice was as weak as I had ever heard it. He took me closer to the casket and I looked at my mother. She was white, much too white, I remember thinking. The way her soft hair fell about her warm face was what always registered her as 'mother', in my mind. Now, the soft hair and warm face were gone and were replaced by crinkly strands of wire and a cold, hard stone for a face. The mother I knew was gone, but I had yet to realize it.

Richard never came to the funeral. When Clark and I came home, to my home, the man I had called my father for so long was seated at our oak table, two empty bottles of wine and a full wine glass placed before him. Clark took me up to my room and told me to stay there and play with my piano a little bit while he went downstairs and talked to Richard. A few minutes after he left, my ear was pressed to the door, desperately trying to hear anything.

Amazingly, I could hear _everything_. The sound of birds outside, the rush of cars down our street, the gentle _whoosh_ing of the water against our dock... But I didn't want to hear those sounds. I focused on what I wanted to hear, and I heard Clark and my father as if I were sitting in on the conversation. I still remember that conversation.

"Richard, you have to stop this. Jason's upstairs." There was a clink of glass, bottles, I realized.

A chair was pushed out. "Don't tell me what to do with my son!" Richard yelled drunkenly.

I heard Clark sigh. "I'm not trying to tell you to do anything with your son. Just to get a hold of yourself." There was fumbling around with the cabinet and refrigerator doors.

They were both silent for a while. Then, "How was the funeral?"

The fumbling stopped. "Fine," Clark answered, and the noise resumed.

"I couldn't come, Clark," Richard told the other man. "I just couldn't come. I couldn't see her like...like _that_."

A blender started to buzz. "I know."

More silence. Finally, Richard spoke again. "Why didn't you save her...?" Everything stopped. It was almost as if time had been halted. The blender stopped buzzing, movement was absent from the kitchen, and I could hear neither of the two men's breathing.

"I couldn't." I heard Clark reply quietly. I had to strain to hear his words. "No matter how many times I was by her side... No matter how fast I flew... No matter how strong I was..." my ears picked up the sound of glass shattering under constant pressure. "I couldn't save her. I couldn't protect her."

A plane landed on the water then, and the rest of the conversation was lost to me.

At the time, I didn't understand what it was Clark had meant by saying that he couldn't save my mother. Sure, I had made the connection that Clark was Superman, but it wasn't until I wasmuch olderwhen I finally realized that Superman was also Clark. From there, everything snowballed out of control.

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**_Soooo... This is actually an old idea of mine that i just really got full-swing into. i hope all of you like it. oh, and i'm asking from the start, because on my other story, Serena and Edoc'sil(check it out, if you haven't! it's really cool for Inheritance Trilogy fanatics XD) , i waited until chapter 54 to ask. If there's anyone out there who would like to beta-read for this story, that would be amazing. thank you!_**

**_drop a review if you can! thanks!_**

**_Shadeslayer390_**


	2. Chapter 2

A month after the funeral, Richard went back to London. He had been there since before mom had gotten sick; he had a life and a job there now, so he had to go back, but he didn't take me with him. He told me that I should stay here, in Metropolis, because that was where my mother had intended me to be.

So I stayed. Clark took me in as my official guardian, and we lived together in a loft a few minutes from the _Planet_. We sold the house on Riverside Drive. Clark had asked me if I wanted to live in my own house or a new one. When I chose to live in a new place, I think Clark had secretly rejoiced inside. He loved my mother, I know that now, but he loved her so much that even seeing the slightest trace of her inside the Riverside house made him cry.

Years passed. Clark continued to work for the _Daily Planet_, even though so many things had changed. I went through my three years of middle school with no signs of my powers, and then skipped ninth grade, going straight to tenth. That was when super-strength kicked in. Super-hearing wouldn't kick in until I was a junior, and I wouldn't fly until I was a freshman in college. Even then, I couldn't stay in the air for long. Clark said it had something to do with my being only half Kryptonian.

Anyway, music was my true passion in high school, though I did become editor of the school newspaper by eleventh grade. Though, being involved in the paper was almost obligatory. I felt that I had a duty to my mother and Richard and Clark to become a journalist. But, music was my true passion.

I graduated at the age of twenty-two from Metropolis University with a Bachelor's degree in music, and a minor in journalism. After college, I pursued my dreams of playing the piano professionally, but in the end, it wasn't paying me enough money. I had moved out of Clark's loft when I had gone to college, and when I came back, I bought my own apartment on the other side of town. Nothing against Clark, but he was suffocating me. For so long, I had blamed him for the death of my mother, how he couldn't save her, though I knew it wasn't his fault. We never really worked that out. I needed to branch out, so I did.

Finally, at the age of twenty-four, I decided to put my journalism minor to work. I applied for work to about twenty offices in my area. Two answered the call. One was the _Daily Planet_. Interesting how things work out, isn't it? I was half in mind to ignore the editor, Richard's Uncle Perry, and move to another state to find something else. I decided to talk to Clark about it that weekend, when we usually had our 'family' dinners. We met at his place once a week, usually on weekends, for dinner.

That weekend, when I arrived at his loft, he was cooking. That was _never_ a good sign. That meant he had burned the pizza while heating it up, or ruined the Chinese take-out somehow. It was amazing to me how the Man of Steel couldn't even heat up Chinese food.

"Clark...?"

The six-foot-four man turned around to face me from the stove. He had on a white long-sleeve button-down shirt, khakis, a full apron that said, 'Kiss the Cook', and two huge oven mitts. "Jason!" He said cheerfully, turning back to the stove. "You're a bit early. Sorry, but the food isn't ready yet."

I frowned. "Clark... Why on Earth are you cooking? I thought tonight was Chinese." we had developed a schedule in the past few months I had been home. Pizza, Chinese, Indian, Indo-Chinese, and barbeque. Not once had we broken our routine. Not _once_. But now he was cooking? Something was smelling foul, but it wasn't Clark's cooking, for once.

He stopped cooking and looked at me with his deer-caught-in-the-headlights look and adjusted his thick, black-rimmed glasses that seemed to imprison his true-blue eyes(which, of course, he didn't actually require). It was a nervous habit that he had done ever since he had known my mother.

I cocked an eyebrow and folded my arms. "What's up?" I demanded, staring him down.

The other man sighed and turned off the stove, letting his arms hang loosely by his side. "Guess I can't keep anything from you anymore, can I?"

I laughed. "Clark, you never _could_ keep anything from me. I figured out that you were Superman when I was five, remember?"

He chuckled slightly, nodding. "I remember. You were—"

"Nope." I stopped him. "You're not getting out of this one. Tell me why we're not following our age-old schedule and why you're _cooking_."

Clark sighed again. "All right..." he began twiddling his thumbs. "Well... I got a call from Perry today—"

I cut him off because I knew what he was going to say. "I'm not even sure if I want the job," I said quietly.

That stopped him. He nodded. "I figured that's what you would say."

I frowned at him. "You think I should take the job?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I'm saying, Jason. It's your choice, of course."

I sighed and sat on the navy-blue corduroy couch. "It would be weird, you know?" I told him, staring at the glass vase of orchids on the oak coffee table. "Going to work where _she_ did, I mean."

Clark nodded, taking off his apron and sitting next to me. "I know. It's been thirteen years, and I can't even bring myself to look at her desk." He paused. "I loved her."

I turned my blue, blue gaze to the man next to me. "I know," I told him. "I loved her, too." I took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before finally releasing it. "I'm taking the job."

The look on Clark's face as I stood will stay with me forever as one of the funniest things I have ever seen. It was a cross between puzzlement, astonishment, amazement, and pride all at once. He looked away and blinked a few times before nodding and standing, as well.

I finished cooking that night. Somehow, Clark had managed to make tofu lasagna dessert, complete with a crapload of sugar. We ended up just ordering our Chinese take-out.

As I left that night, I quickly summarized my future phone conversation with Perry White that I would have the next day. It was full of heart-warming phrases from Mr. White, and absolutely nothing but 'Yessir' and 'No, sir' from me.

Needless to say, the editor of the _Daily Planet_ would have very different plans for me. Our first meeting, for example, was face-to-face in his office. Just the two of us. Phone conversation, my ass.

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_**guys, i am SOOOOOOOOO sorry that it's taken me SOOOOOOOOOOOO long to post this chappie. i promise that i'm doing the best i can. school started up for me, and i'm in a musical, and classes are just sheer torture. sorry about the long wait period, and please don't scold me for it. i'm trying my best, really, i am. **_

_**i hope you enjoyed this chapter. i thought i'd try to make jason just a little bit more light-hearted. please R&R!**_


	3. Chapter 3

I was dressed in a grey-blue suit that complemented my eyes nicely, as most of the women in the _Planet_'s office made sure that I knew. The tie was striped in turquoise, white, and grey, and went along perfectly with the suit. Black loafers completed my ensemble fashionably, and my long, almost shoulder-length brown hair was tied neatly back at the base of my neck. Clark had made it known to me that Perry did not like long hair. He thought it looked unprofessional. Well, standing there in my matching outfit, I looked pretty damn professional, even with my long hair.

"JASON LANE!"

Perry White's booming voice made me jump almost a foot off of my chair outside of his small office.

I managed to scramble to my feet, resume binder in hand, and entered Chief White's office.

It was spacious, to my complete surprise. From behind the glass windows that separated Perry White's world from the rest of the _Daily Planet_, the office didn't seem to be that big. Now that I was center-stage in the office, it suddenly grew fifty square feet.

Perry White's office had the finest view of downtown Metropolis I had ever seen in my entire life. I remember my mother taking me here after school was finished and making me wait mercilessly while she finished up her story for the day. I remember pressing my face to that glass, watching the tiny people below scatter about like ants in the grass.

As I stood there, reminiscing on my childhood memories, I could feel the steely gaze of the editor upon me. He was examining me, and I knew at once that he disapproved of my lengthy hair.

Perry White was not a young man. He had been at least fifty when I was born, and now, in his late seventies, he still had the grace of a young entrepreneur. The editor of the _Planet_ stood from behind his desk in a white long-sleeved button-down with nice, black slacks. He held a calloused hand out for me to take. I smiled and took the offered hand, which the editor responded by shaking vigorously. He gave me a terse smile, one that said "Dear God, I hope he's not like his mother."

"Good morning, Mr. Lane." He greeted formally, his gruff tone surprisingly professional. We released hands and took our seats in our corresponding chairs, he in his leather Lazy Boy, and me in my just-hard-enough-to-hurt-your-ass chair.

"Good morning, Mr. White," I responded with a polite smile. I wasn't going to overdo my enthusiasm like a certain multiple-personality reporter that I knew.

Perry scanned the contents of a manilla folder that lay open before him. He nodded to himself before looking back up at me with his grey eyes, which narrowed drastically. "I don't like your hair." He said bluntly.

I must admit that this bluntness surprised me. After all, I was only looking for Twenty Questions, not an actual _talk_. Nevertheless, I didn't let him catch me off my guard. "A lot of people don't like it, sir, but I do."

The editor smiled.

If the bluntness caught me off-guard, this one knocked me out of the park. Clark had filled me in on _everything_ about Chief Perry White, and he had never once mentioned the fact that the chiefhad ever smiled in his lifetime.

"That sounds like something your mother would say." His voice was quiet, almost strangled. Perry drew in a deep breath and let it out as he looked over what was, presumably, my file yet again. "It says here that you graduated when you were twenty-two."

"Yes, sir,"

"Valedictorian of your class, I see,"

"Yes, sir,"

Perry looked up at me over the top of his half-moon lenses, his white brows furrowed into a straight line. "You are a music major," The editor's frown deepened as he lay down my file and took off his half-moon lenses. "Care to tell me why you're a music major, Mr. Lane?"

I shrugged. "Music is my passion." I replied simply.

The frown deepened. "Then why, pray tell, are you looking for a job in my newspaper?"

"Unfortunately, sir, there was little money in the music industry, so I have decided to put my journalism minor to work."

The editor sighed and looked back down at my file. "Your resume is impressive, Mr. Lane, I would not have invited you here if that were not so. However, this newspaper, or any newspaper, for that matter, has never hired a non-journalism major."

I frowned. "I must admit, Mr. White, that I do not understand the difficulty. Just because a person is not a journalism major does not mean that he is not as perfectly qualified as a true journalism major."

This forced another smile from the editor. He chuckled slightly and looked up at me. "I like you, kid, really I do, but you sure are a cocky SOB." Perry sighed. "And for good reason. You really are impressive, kid." He nodded to himself and stood, holding his hand out. "All right, kid, I'll give you the chance you deserve."

I stood, a smile stretching across my face, and took his hand once more. "Thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

Perry waved the comment away as he sat back down. "That's what they all say. Now get out of my sight. I want you working with Cunningham ASAP. Yeah, Cunningham's a good induction ceremony." His slight chuckle made me frown, but I didn't dwell on it.

With a final nod of thanks, I stepped out of Perry White's office and entered the world with a whole new set of eyes: the eyes of a reporter.

A man in his late thirties, or so, was the first to greet me in this new world.

"Hello!" He greeted cheerfully. "You're Lois Lane's kid, right? I knew her back in the day... I was lucky enough to get to work on her with quite a few things–"

I cut him off. "Thank you, but I really need to get to work." I replied coldly, and began to walk away. I had not accepted the job to be constantly reminded of my mother. I knew how wonderful she had been. That was the reason I could never talk about her.

"Hey, wait!" The man caught up to me and looked at me with brown, apologetic eyes. "I'm really sorry. Didn't mean to offend you, or anything." He held out his hand. "Jimmy Olsen. It's very nice to meet you."

My eyes drifted to Jimmy's outstretched hand. I sighed, taking his hand. "Jason Lane. Nice to see you again, Jimmy."

Jimmy's eyes lit up. "You remember me? I didn't think you would, seeing as you were ity-bity when–"

"Jimmy," I said, my voice taking on a warning tone.

He nodded with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Jason. So who're you partnered with for now?" Jimmy asked, changing the subject.

"Someone named Cunningham." Jimmy's eyebrows shot up sky high. I frowned at his expression. "You know him?"

"Well, I–"

"OLSEN!! IF I DON'T SEE SOME PICTURES IN FIVE SECONDS, YOU'RE FIRED!"

Jimmy sighed. "I'm on it, Chief!" He replied, waving some up-close pictures of a fire somewhere in Metropolis. "Sorry, kid, but I've gotta get these photos over to Mr. White pronto, or he'll have my job."

I nodded. "Sure. Nice seeing you, Jimmy,"

"You too, kid!" He smiled brightly at me one last time before running off to Perry's office, photos in hand.

Sighing, I turned back to the rows of desks before me. It had been a long time since I had seen this office. It was always loud, busy with workaholic reporters straining to meet some deadline. I frowned as I realized that my mother had been one of these people. She always came home late, or sometimes, not at all. Sometimes, Richard and I would be the ones bringing dinner up to her, Jimmy, and Clark...

Clark. Wow, was that a complicated subject. Just mentioning Clark at the workplace made my hands clench into fists.

As a child, my mentality was slow and very vague. I understood that Superman had an alter-ego, and my mother called that alter-ego Clark Kent, but my mind had not registered that my mother's bubbly partner could turn into the savior of the universe at will.

I was stupid. So, very stupid.

That stupidity had obviously remained over the years, due to the fact that I did not even notice when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

After they had tapped my shoulder, cleared their throat, and stomped their foot, I finally realized that someone was trying to get my attention.

I turned to find two gray eyes staring straight back at me. Their owner was a _very_ tall woman, taller than Clark, it seemed, with her gray hair pulled back into a tight French twist. She glared at me over her spectacles and down her beak-shaped nose.

"Mr. Lane, I presume?" She spoke in a low but feminine voice that could only belong to a woman over sixty.

My eyebrows arched curiously as I inspected the tall, skinny woman before me. She had to be a reporter, due to her fashion sense. A grey, woolen blazer with a matching grey skirt that came past her knees and sensible, black heels would only be worn by a reporter.

I had enough sense to nod cautiously while inspecting her. "Y-Yes...A-And y-you are...?"

She gave a small smile. "Marie Cunningham. It's nice to meet you." Marie held out a wrinkled hand that confirmed my sixty-year-old-woman theory.

It took everything I had to not let my mouth gape in surprise. "O-Oh!" I nodded, smiling, and took her hand, shaking it. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cunningham. Jason Lane, very nice to meet you, too."

Marie's smile vanished. "_Ms._" She corrected harshly.

The color drained from my face. This woman scared the living hell out of me. I nodded vigorously. "S-Sorry, Ms. Cunningham," I apologized.

The elderly woman snorted and began walking away. "Follow me," she commanded powerfully.

I followed without so much as a squeak.

She began showing me around the office, my workstation being our first stop. Ironically, it was directly across from my mother's old cubicle.

I gritted my teeth and tried to keep a straight face as I walked calmly over to my workstation, trying very hard not to let my eyes linger to the cubicle I had grown up around.

Marie must have noticed my behavior, because one of her jet-black eyebrows rose from its straight line. "Something wrong?" She asked none too politely.

I managed to shake my head as I sat down. "No," I replied gruffly. "Tell me what I need to know."

The elder woman's eyebrow stayed in its cocked position as she spoke. "You will do work here at the office before I decide to put you out on the field. You're mine, Lane, so you might as well get used to it." She threw a stack of papers onto my desk. "Start by archiving these schedules. When you're done, send them to their corresponding agents. If you need any help, figure it out yourself. Don't bother anyone, including me. You're on your own, Lane, but you're still on my leash. If you don't screw up, maybe I'll give you a treat." She smiled mockingly and stalked off.

Needless to say, I immediately did not like Marie Cunningham. _No wonder Jimmy was hesitant about her. She's a bitch._ Nevertheless, I set to work archiving the schedules.

My first few months at the _Planet_ were hell, but after month three, Marie finally gave me my first story. Perry ran it on the front page two weeks later.

As the months flew by, my number of stories increased, most of them ending up on page one of our morning paper. Journalism was turning out to be my forte, surprisingly. I hadn't planned on actually _liking_ my job at the _Planet_, but it was turning out to be...dare I say it...fun.

That is, until Perry White got sick.

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**_bows head i apologize for getting this chapter out so late. My beta is unreachable at the current moment, so SASCREECH!!! COME BAAAACK!! so if anyone else would like to volunteer for beta-ing, that would be sooooooooo amazing. _**

**_ i REEEEEEEEALLY hope you like this chappie, and i promise to start getting off my lazy butt and typing more!!! R&R I LOVE MY CONSTANT READERS!! THANK YOU GUYS SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!  
_**

**_Shadeslayer390  
_**


	4. Chapter 4

Clark's eyebrows rose. "Perry? _Sick?_"

I nodded, picking up a clump of lo mein noodles with my wooden chopsticks. "Weird, but expected."

"Expected?" Clark inquired, picking up his chopsticks from beside his plate and sliding them out of their paper container.

"Well, yeah." I said, my mouth full of noodles. "The guy's in his seventies, Clark. His immune system's shot to hell by now."

"I've known Perry White for almost thirty years, Jason," Clark insisted, trying to figure out how to use his chopsticks. "The man doesn't even have _allergies_."

"He's old." I stressed. "It's expected." I reached over Clark to pick up a spring roll from a plate next to him.

Clark frowned and finally placed his chopsticks down. "Is he really that sick?" He asked, getting up and going over to the silverware drawer to get a fork.

"Sick enough for the _Planet_'s owner to pick a temporary replacement chief." I answered him.

He sat back down and, at last, started to eat his beef and garlic sauce. "Who are they going to get? To replace him, I mean?"

I set down my chopsticks and put my elbows on the table, rubbing my temples with my forefingers. "Marie Cunningham," I said slowly.

Clark seemed to perk up. "Marie? Your trainer, Marie?"

I nodded, still rubbing my temples.

"I knew her when she was first starting out. She was in her forties then, so she must be in her sixties by now, right?"

I nodded again.

"I think she'll be a great boss, Jason, don't you think?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Just great. It's not enough that I had to answer to the beast for six months, now she's the one who holds my paycheck in her Talons of Death."

Clark chuckled and cocked an eyebrow. "Talons of Death?"

"Well, they are. Have you even seen her nails lately? She keeps them at, at least, two inches. Except the pinky. That, she keeps at three just so she can scratch that sagging chin of hers and go," I posed as Marie Cunningham at board meetings, with my right elbow in my left palm and my pinky scratching my chin. "'Hmmm... How can I ridicule that little Lane boy...?'" I laughed, but Clark didn't find it near as funny.

"Marie Cunningham is the second-best reporter that I have ever seen in the history of the _Planet_," he said, pointing his fork at me. "So don't you mouth off about her, Jason Lane."

Then we heard it.

He turned his head, but I just glanced towards the window with my eyes and went back to eating my lo mein.

He looked to me with an apologetic look, but I shook my head. "Don't worry about it," I told him. "Go help those people. I'm sure burning alive isn't on their agenda."

He smiled. "And I don't intend on letting them burn alive."

"I know."

He stood. "Thank you, Jason."

"Don't thank me, I'm not the one saving those people." I stuffed another spring roll into my mouth.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you could, someday."

My first reaction was to laugh, but I knew it would hurt his feelings, so I smiled wryly instead. "Someday, is right."

And he was gone.

I ate the rest of our Chinese take-out by myself. This was how it always ended, after all. We would be halfway into a discussion, he'd hear some cry for help from an innocent, and he'd go racing off into the sunset. The story of my life, really, but I really didn't care at the time. It was just how it was, had always been, and always would be.

The following morning, the entire office was abuzz with rumors. Perry had retired. The owner of the paper had gotten tired of Perry and made him retire. Marie was a Nazi who owned the people who owned the paper and had forced them to make Perry retire. Crazy things like that. Of course, none of it was true, but I was more inclined to believe the third more than anything.

The only major change that Marie made while temporary editor of _The Daily Planet_ was to hire new reporters. Peggy Marks, our latest reporter, had been fired earlier that year, and Perry had never quite found anyone to replace her. So, naturally, it became Marie's mission in life to find a new reporter for the _Planet_. The Monday after she was given her new position, word got around that Marie had scheduled an interview with one Emerald Ross.

I remember thinking, _What kind of name is 'Emerald Ross'? Who names their kid 'Emerald', in the first place?_

And so, the supposed day of the supposed interview with the supposed Emerald Ross came. Every single person in the office that day was trying very hard to steal a glance into Cunningham's new office, wondering if they could inconspicuously see part of the supposed interview.

The hours flew by, and when no new faces showed up at the office, everyone suspected that the interview was just a fluke and forgot about it.

Then, right before quitting time, the glass doors to the _Planet_'s office opened, and a small girl, no taller than five feet two, walked through the threshold. Her rich, chocolate hair fell in tight curls just above her shoulders, and seemed to compliment her eye-catching green eyes. Every single person in the office was thinking the same thing: _Hello, Emerald Ross_.

Little Emerald Ross was wearing a pleated brown skirt with pink stripes that came down just past her knees. Her shirt was a brown, long-sleeved turtleneck that flipped out at the collar and cuffs. In that outfit, Emerald's eyes really stood out. After all, green on brown would catch anyone's eye.

The applicant entered Marie's office with a leather briefcase in her right hand, her portfolio in her left. I found myself following her with my X-ray vision into the office as if it were a natural occurrence. Quickly realizing my actions, I tore my gaze from Marie's new office and glued them to my computer's monitor, attempting to at least _look_ engulfed in my work while my ears tuned in to their conversation.

My new boss stood and shook hands with the applicant, holding a straight face all the while. They both sat in their chairs and began to converse.

"I have heard great things about you, Miss Ross,"

A compliment? Were my ears working? I casually cleaned my ears with my little finger just to check.

Emerald nodded with a small smile. "It's 'Ms.', and thank you Ms. Cunningham,"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Ross,"

Nope. My ears were fine. Marie had just _apologized_ and _complimented_ a subordinate who did not even work for her yet. Was this what my boss was actually like when someone did not piss her off? This was a whole new experience for me, and I was downright puzzled.

"No, no, you don't have to apologize," I noticed for the first time that _Ms._ Emerald Ross had a sophisticated English accent. The other noises that my intricate hearing had picked up were quite obviously interfering with my auditory skills. It was quite annoying, so I focused my ears on something deeper than the conversation, something duller, yet satisfying. I found it in the young applicant's heartbeat.

Emerald Ross's heartbeat was slow and steady, like a beating drum. It was calming, and I found that I could focus on her conversation with Marie with far more success.

"You majored in journalism at Rice University, I see," Marie must have gotten hold of the applicant's resume by now.

"Yes, ma'am,"

"You seem very charismatic, and you look wonderful on camera..."

Emerald's heart skipped a few beats. "Thank you, ma'am," I frowned at both the heart aspect and the camera thing.

When had Marie seen Emerald Ross on camera?

"And you certainly hold yourself well in tough situations,"

I heard Emerald's blood begin to flow rather frantically. She was angry. At what, I had no idea. "Thank you, Ms. Cunningham."

But Marie did not stop. "Rice is a very prestigious school, Ms. Ross. And seeing as you managed to become editor of the school newspaper _and_ graduate at the top of your class," I heard Marie's chair slide back as she stood. "I see no reason why I should not hire you."

I rolled my eyes. _Well, isn't she perfect? Why not erect a statue of her in your office right now?_ Marie was certainly being nice around this girl, and it upset me that I did not know why she was acting so strangely. _But... Why was _Emerald_ angry?_

As the two of them came out of Marie's office, I no longer had any use for my 'super-hearing'. My normal hearing would do just fine.

"So when do I start, Ms. Cunningham?" Emerald asked brightly.

I saw Marie shrug out of the corner of my eye. "Right now would be the best time. We are short some good reporters. That was why I hired you. Now, we just need to get you paired up with an experienced reporter..." I felt her eyes bearing down upon me. "Hmm..."

_Crap._

"Lane!"

I stood from my cubicle. "Yes, boss?" I always answered to her as 'boss', even though she had never technically been my boss until now.

The old woman towering over Emerald Ross pointed a bony finger down at her. "This is Ms. Emerald Ross. She will be your apprentice, of sorts. Get her warmed up to things: archiving work, things like that. You decide when she gets out on the field."

Emerald Ross and I looked at each other for a moment before turning back to Marie at the exact same time.

"Wait..._What?!_" we both said in unison.

Marie cocked an eyebrow. "Is this a problem?"

When Marie asked if there was a problem, her sentence usually translated to, "Does anyone want to be killed?" I knew this from months and months of experience, but Emerald did not have that experience.

"Well, yes, actually,"

I winced.

Marie shifted her weight and crossed her arms, that eyebrow still in its wonky position. "Oh?"

"Well, you see, Ms. Cunningham, I was hoping to be trained by a _female_ reporter, perhaps one with more..." Her emerald-green eyes looked me up and down, pausing dramatically on my long hair.

I frowned and crossed my arms. "More...what?"

She shrugged, unresponsive.

Marie narrowed her eyes. "Jason Lane is one of the best reporters we have."

I was shocked. Never, in my months under Marie had I _ever_ heard her compliment my "skills".

"He may have balls and an oversized ego, but he has what it takes to make it in this paper."

That first part made me frown, but I shrugged it off, nonetheless. At least she acknowledged my abilities.

But Emerald, apparently, was not impressed. "Yes, but—"

"This discussion is over," Marie said forcefully, turning her back on us. "Have fun, you two," She waved a wrinkled hand at us as she turned to walk away, but suddenly, she stopped. She turned back around to face us. "Oh, and Ms. Ross's desk will be right across from yours, Lane,"

I froze. Now _that_, I had a problem with. "But Boss—" She stopped me with a raised hand.

"I know, Lane," she said quietly, her voice softer somehow. "I'll move her as soon as possible, but right now, Lois will have to share a desk with Ms. Ross. I am truly sorry." With that, Marie was gone.

When we were alone, Emerald and I exchanged glances. I did my best to look indifferent, but my anger showed through. But Emerald didn't even try to hide her rage.

After a long moment of silence, I broke the ice. I walked over to the desk facing my own, separated only by the cubicle's felt wall. She followed me, as I had planned, but she froze upon seeing the items on the desk.

Everyone in the office who had known my mother, including Marie, had made her desk more of a shrine than an actual desk. A picture of my mother sitting in the park, the trees in full bloom behind her, hung on the rear wall of the cubicle. Tens of tiny candles flickered underneath it, casting a soft glow about the desk space. The computer, which had once been my mother's, was still covered in sticky-notes filled with my mother's handwriting. The computer lay untouched by human fingers for thirteen years but had not a speck of dust on it. Lois Lane was not particularly obsessive about cleanliness, but she _hated_ dust on her computer. Out of respect, one person had the job of dusting her computer and keyboard everyday.

I could hear Emerald's heart beating very fast as she examined the desk.

"You'll have to work around the picture and the candles," I told her.

She looked up at me with her green, green eyes. "Why?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "Are you blind or just plain dumb?" I asked her bluntly. She seemed shocked by my forwardness. "You are now working at the best newspaper in Metropolis, and you are also sharing the desk of the best damn reporter of that newspaper. Be grateful."

Emerald looked at the picture. "Who was she?" she asked quietly.

I sighed. "Lois Lane. She worked here for a long time."

"Did you know her?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I knew her." I smiled. "She was my mother."

The young woman looked down, then back at the picture, swiping a curly lock of brown hair from her face. "I'm sorry. How did she die?"

I shrugged and picked up a box of matches to light a candle that had been blown out. "She got sick," I replied simply. "She'd been living with the cancer for a long time, she'd just never told anyone." _Except Superman_, I reminded myself. _He knew why she was dying._ But at her request, Superman couldn't say a word to anyone.

"When did...?"

"Thirteen years ago. I was eleven."

Emerald nodded. "Well, thank you for letting me use her desk."

I shrugged and went to my side of the cubicle. "It wasn't my decision, Emerald. Marie just didn't have any other place to put you. But don't worry," I told her, sitting down in my chair. "Marie'll get more desks in here soon, so you won't have to stay there for long."

"Emmy,"

I frowned, peering over the top of the cubicle wall. "Excuse me?"

"I go by 'Emmy'." she repeated, fixing her emerald gaze on me. "An emerald is a jewel. I'm Emmy."

I nodded with raised eyebrows. "O-kay...Emmy... Go ahead and create your own username and password on the computer. You _do_ know how to do that, right?" I smirked.

"I give computer-challenged nerds like you trojans and viruses." she chuckled. "I think I can manage a username and password." With my X-ray vision, I saw her typing furiously on the keyboard. _Username: EmeraldPrincessXD Password: xxxx _(Todd). I concluded that this 'Todd' was her boyfriend, or brother, or something.

"Good." I stood, a large stack of papers that had been on my desk in my arms. I plopped the stack of papers beside her keyboard, wary of the candles. "Start archiving." I sat down, a smirk apparent on my face. "Tell me when you're done." Through the cubicle wall, I saw 'Emmy' Ross sticking her tongue out at me. I returned the favor like a child and continued my work, checking up on her every so often.

I came to the conclusion that Emmy Ross was exceptional, but not the best person in the world. I could tell that she was definitely sure of herself, which was fine, but too much surety could get you fired at the _Planet_.

* * *

_**okies, there it is!!!!!!!! again, I NEED A BETA!!! or three... so please message me with your e-mail, or leave a signed review so that i might reach you, should you be interested!! thanxies!!**_

_** did you guys like this chappie? do you want longer chappies? what would you like to see? i'd like a few suggestions, just to spark my muse. there is a very good chance that i might not use your suggestion, but they are MUCH appreciated. as are reviews!! thank you to my readers who have R&R'd!! PLEASE CONTINUE!! R&R PLEASE!!**_

_**  
-Shadeslayer390  
**_


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